


the weight of us

by casdoms (moffwithhishead)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x13 coda, Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, basically dean is sad and cas is there for him, dean's nonexistant self-worth, vague suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffwithhishead/pseuds/casdoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I suppose," the angel mutters thoughtfully, "But there are places I would rather be." The 'with you' is implied.</p><p>Dean lets out a breath and sighs, suddenly feeling very tired, "Yeah... I..." Me too, he screams in his head. I want you here too. His hand flexes for something to grab onto and he grips his glass so hard he wonders if he could break it, whether it would hurt anymore or if it would just add to the familiar numbness of depression that's creeping up on him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the weight of us

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings for depression and dean calling his own existence into question.**
> 
> also: warnings because that one line in Sam's speech in the episode really didn't sit well with me (and I don't think it sat too well with Dean either) - so... yeah.
> 
> [read it on tumblr!](http://lovelydean.tumblr.com/post/76377614886/post-9-13-coda-warnings-for-dean-being-depressed)

It briefly occurs to Dean when he's pouring his sixth glass of whiskey that he hasn't been this drunk since before he went to purgatory.

He pauses for a moment of drunken introspective contemplation before shrugging and pouring himself a little extra, deciding that he deserves it. Deserves the hangover, the very real chances of alcohol poisoning, the vomiting and pity-filled looks from his younger brother tomorrow morning - yeah, he deserves all of it. 

His thoughts are slurring - is that even possible? - as he grumbles to himself about little brothers and Hell. Sam went to bed two hours ago after that delightful little heart-to-heart.

At the time, Dean didn't have it in him to defend himself or to argue. He knows Sam was right but he wasn't  _totally_  right and he's left with the urge to yell something to no one in particular. He wants to yell about hunger and childhoods and a girl he never got the chance to love properly. He wants to be selfish but he can't - because Sam was right.

Sleep sounds like a good idea but you can't yell at someone in your sleep, can you? No, he decides, sleep is out of the question. He doesn't deserve sleep. Not tonight.

His phone appears in his line of vision and Dean sips at his glass thoughtfully, staring the device down like he's expecting it to challenge him to a fight.

He still hasn't called Cas. He hadn't wanted to hear the lecture about the Mark or what exactly it entailed for him - if he was honest, he didn't really care anymore what happened to him. He could go back to Hell or be cursed to end up like Cain at this point and Dean wouldn't bat an eye. Sam would be better off without him, so would Cas... and Charlie, if she ever comes back. 

 _Why would she ever come back to **you?**_  a traitorous voice whispers in the back of his head and Dean downs the rest of his glass, hoping it shuts the voice up.

Something makes the choice for him, to pick up the phone and call Cas. He lets his head rest against his palm as he listens to the phone ring, closing his eyes when the sight of their kitchen table makes him dizzy. It rings and rings and rings and Dean belatedly wonders if Cas, of all things, is asleep. 

That sets something else off in him and he reaches over, grabbing the almost empty bottle once more and pours himself another glass. Seven. Seven glasses of whiskey in one night - he's giving himself a run for his money. 

"Dean?" A gravelly voice answers abruptly and he sounds vaguely annoyed, like he's been trying to get Dean's attention for a while now. "Dean, are you there? Is everything alright?" 

"Hey," Dean slurs a little before clearing his throat and trying to sound sober, "Hey, we're uh... fine." 

Cas lets out a breath and sighs; Dean can just see him shaking his head, smiling sadly at his hands because he knows when his friend is lying. Always has. 

"So," the hunter clears his throat once more and rubs a hand over his face, "Where you at?" 

Castiel hums thoughtfully for a few moments before answering quietly, "I am driving through... rural Illinois, it seems." It's silent for another beat before he says solemnly, "It is not as beautiful as I was led to believe." 

That surprises a laugh out of Dean and he's drunk so it comes out more as a giggle, like a schoolgirl laughing at her crush's dumb joke, "Yeah, it ain't the prettiest place... but it ain't too bad either." 

"I suppose," the angel mutters thoughtfully, "But there are places I would rather be." The 'with you' is implied.

Dean lets out a breath and sighs, suddenly feeling very tired, "Yeah... I..."  _Me too_ , he screams in his head.  _I want you here too_. His hand flexes for something to grab onto and he grips his glass so hard he wonders if he could break it, whether it would hurt anymore or if it would just add to the familiar numbness of depression that's creeping up on him again.

They're silent for a few minutes, just listening to each other breathe - and it's comfortable, shockingly so. Dean smiles to himself when Cas hums along to a song on the radio, something he distantly remembers from his days in high school when he hung with the stoners.

He wonders if Cas likes this song, if he knows the words and raps along when he's driving or if it's just something in the background. He pictures Cas singing the chorus to "[Big Poppa](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/notoriousbig/bigpoppa.html)" and starts giggling quietly to himself, the image of his friend's normally stoic face whilst rapping that being the cause.

A familiarly deep voice asks fondly, like he knows exactly why Dean is laughing, "What's so funny?" 

"You like rap," Dean says bluntly in between one fit of drunken laughter that dissolves into another. "You... angel of the fuckin' lord... are sittin' there... in your fuckin' Lincoln... bumpin' to Biggie..." He lets out a decidedly unmanly squeak of a laugh and covers his face with his hand, "Jesus christ, Cas,  _ **you like rap**_."

Castiel huffs and Dean can hear him rolling his eyes, "It is... enjoyable. The beats are quite..." He's silent for a moment as he thinks of the right word to describe the urge he has to nod along when certain songs come on, "Catchy. I enjoy the way these men paint a picture." 

"Oh yeah, '[Fucking You Tonight](http://youtu.be/PtLf2gZ8aZ4)' is a real work of art," he mumbles before taking another sip of his drink, "Some deep shit in that song, man." 

"Dean," Castiel says quietly after a few minutes of silence, recognizing the tone of his friend's voice, "What happened?" 

He folds and tells him everything - he tells him about Cain, about Crowley, about what Sam said, how hurt he is and how mad he is. He tells Cas how he hasn't slept in almost three days and how much he's been drinking. He tells Cas that he would be scaring himself if he cared anymore about his own wellbeing. 

"He said," Dean slurs, laughing bitterly as he wipes his face off, "He said that I'm certainly willing to sacrifice shit as long as I'm not the one gettin' hurt... like... the fuck does he think? I fuckin'... I was killin' m'self to feed him... I did shit Cas... and he just..." 

"Sam doesn't know about all of the things you did," Cas reminds him gently and Dean laughs again but it trails off into a sob.

"I don't know how to fix this Cas," he admits and he hates how small his voice sounds, "I don't think I can fix this. And I... fuck, I don't even know if I want to fix it. He's... he's right. He..." Dean swallows and croaks out, his voice rough from overuse and whiskey and emotions he's been pushing down for months now, "He'd be better off without me." 

They're both quiet for a good five minutes as Dean cries and Cas pretends that he doesn't notice the change in his friend's breathing, becoming more labored and haggard.

Eventually though Cas speaks and he says resolutely, "I'm coming home." 

"What?" Dean croaks, surprised, and he shakes his head as he talks quickly, "Cas, no, don't, 's not worth it, 's not worth sacrificing that Gad..." His drunk mind stumbles over how the hell to say the bastard's name and comes up with, "Gad-whatever sonovabitch." 

"Dean," Cas cuts him off and he has his 'I'm an angel and I'll smite you' voice on, "I'm. coming. home. You and your brother are not in as good of a place as I was hoping you would be and I am worried about you."

He's not going to let Dean talk him out of this so the hunter nods, feeling relief spread through him despite himself as he says quietly, "Okay..." 

"I am... nine hours from you," Cas tells him apologetically, "I will be there as soon as I can... but you should sleep, Dean." 

"'m not tired," he slurs as he shakes his head, "Don' wan' sleep." 

"Dean," the other man keeps his voice soft but firm, "Get up and walk to your bedroom. I will stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep if you wish - but only if you go lay down." 

He listens begrudgingly and stumbles down the hall to his bedroom, mumbling something to Cas the whole time.

When he gets to his room, Dean slips out of his jeans and crawls into bed just as Cas instructs him to before he pulls the covers up to his chin and sighs happily. His eyes close in spite of himself and he turns the phone on speaker so he can hear Cas as he mumbles, "Wish... you were here..." 

Castiel's answer gets cut off by sleep taking over him. Dean dreams of blue eyes and soft voices telling him that everything will be alright.

In the morning he wakes up with a hand on his cheek and he nuzzles into it without thinking, seeking comfort in whatever touch he can get. It's the familiar chuckle that makes him open his eyes and squint up at Cas, who's standing over his bed and smiling fondly down at him. His throat feels raw and it sounds like he swallowed a blender when he asks, "Cas?"

"Hello Dean," his friend greets him quietly, "May I join you?"

Dean makes a 'have at it' gesture, snuggling closer to his pillow when Cas removes his hand. He's too tired and too hungover to turn down this kind of comfort at the moment so when he feels the other side of the bed dip and the new source of body heat next to him, Dean rolls over and buries his face in his best friend's chest. His arm throws itself haphazardly and possessively over Cas and he mumbles something about 'warm and fluffy.'

Castiel chuckles to himself and runs a hand through Dean's hair as he starts to lull him back to sleep with quiet reassurances that everything will be okay.

"Stay?" The hunter asks him, feeling himself teetering on the brink of consciousness and sleep. 

"I am always with you, Dean," Castiel assures him quietly, "Even when I cannot be here I am always watching over you..." He knows that's not the answer the other man is looking for though so he adds, "I will stay for as long as I can, Dean..." 

He's met with the answering snores from the man on his chest and Cas can't help but smile as he watches Dean sleep. This, he reminds himself, is why he risked everything all those years ago to help two boys save the world. The special brand of fierce loyalty and love that is Dean Winchester is why he became so enamored with humans in the first place.

He will have to leave again, of course. The search for Gadreel is too important to both Winchesters and himself for him to stay here for too long. But right now, Dean takes precedence over that.

* * *

When Dean wakes up the second time he's alone in bed and without the usual pounding headache that generally accompanies his hangovers nowadays. He tries not to pout too much about Cas' absence since the other side of the bed is cold and it won't do him any good.

His stomach grumbles though and for the first time since he ate that damn pudding, he finds himself genuinely hungry. So he makes himself get out of bed and pulls on his Batman PJ bottoms and robe so he can shuffle into the kitchen and scrounge something up.

The smell of bacon and pancakes meets him in the hall and it's... well, it's not great. The bacon smells burnt beyond recognition and the pancakes smell distinctly of butter with a hint of pancake batter. There's smoke coming out of the kitchen and muffled cursing that accompanies it. 

He stops in the doorway and blinks at the sight of Castiel, Angel of the motherfucking Lord, wearing his apron and cursing the stove for burning the bacon.

"You know," Dean clears his throat and he can't help the small smile on his face, "It can't talk back to you, right?" 

Castiel jumps as if surprised by his voice, and Dean's almost sure it's for his benefit, but he glares at the hunter when he turns around, "I am well aware. I am also well aware that the bacon is burnt and it is entirely this piece of...  _crap's_  fault." 

"Hey," Dean points a finger accusingly at him and smirks, "Don't talk about her that way. Bessie may be old, but she's as tough as an ox." At Cas' unamused look he arches a brow, "Have you considered that it is maybe the person who's doing the cooking that's the problem?"

"Have you considered that it is well within my realm of abilities to smite you again?" Cas shoots back as he squints at Dean.

That surprises a laugh out of the hunter and he steps into the kitchen, going over to the oven to turn it off and turn on the overhead fans to get some of the smoke out of the room. He turns to look at his best friend and reaches around his waist to untie the apron, purposefully standing closer than necessary, "Go sit down before you burn the place down, man. I'll cook us something up." 

Cas goes, grumbling the whole way about how he did everything exactly as the directions instructed, but he quiets down when Dean starts cooking.

There's food on the table in under twenty minutes and they're sitting across from one another as they eat their breakfast even though it's probably three in the afternoon. Cas eats his food without complaint and Dean smiles because he knows that Cas hates how food tastes when he's all mojo'd up. 

They don't talk about anything but their knees bump together under the table and Dean suddenly feels like there might be something worth sticking around for after all. 

The silence prevails until they're gathering the dishes to be cleaned and Cas corners Dean when he's standing in front of the sink, wearing those uglyass neon pink rubber gloves that Charlie bought them as a joke, and pulls him into a kiss. 

It's soft and surprisingly tender; it's a kiss that two people share when they know they have all the time in the world to kiss even more. The kiss is meant to communicate everything that Cas wants to tell Dean, that he knows the hunter would never let him say it out loud and Dean kisses with the same intent. They've never been good with words, anyways.

Dean pulls back and stares up at Cas with wide eyes, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop - for the world to end, for Cas to be under Naomi's control again, for someone else he loves to die because of him.

Cas just smiles and cups his face with both his hands before resting their foreheads together. He closes his eyes as he mumbles quietly, "We will figure it out, Dean." 

Dean lets his eyes close and his hands rest on Cas' hips as he breathes in the scent of the other man and grounds himself in this moment.

"Okay," he whispers back, "Okay." 

They'll figure it out.


End file.
